But Not Exactly
by JannP
Summary: One parter and missing scene from the end of 1X21 "Funk".  Finn flunked his funk assignment and needs some help finding his groove.


It was all mixed up. He didn't really know what to do. And the list of people he could talk to these days was so limited. Schue had—kindly—pulled him aside and said he needed to redo the funk assignment to keep his grade up. He had mentioned again (even though Finn was pretty sure he'd understood the first time, but whatever) that Marky Mark wasn't funk. Finn just nodded his acceptance, told Schue it was cool, and continued out of the room to football practice. He was getting graded in glee club?

Finn wondered if Terri had done it on purpose. He hadn't actually _seen_ her looking on the computer because he couldn't stand sitting next to her for that long. She was nice enough but she seemed kind of crazy. There was only one kind of crazy he really wanted to be around and that wasn't an option for him right now because, as much as he liked being around her, it was just too hard. It made him think about things he didn't want to think about.

He sighed, glad the wooden bench in the locker room didn't give under his sagging weight. It would be pretty embarrassing to break a bench after practice. He took a quick glance around. Maybe it would only be slightly more embarrassing than to be caught sitting here thinking about stuff in just his boxer shorts.

Or to have a picture of that end up on the internet. _Again_.

It would be nice if he could just do three things he liked—football, glee club, and playing drums—without being labeled or harassed. He wasn't sure his mother would tolerate one more visit with a concerned psychologist who worried that he was "acting out" every time he got into a little trouble with Puck.

All right, so Puck kind of had the "getting in trouble" all on his own, without any help from another guy. And Finn really didn't want to start hanging out with Puck again. Even if Puck did seem to have a way with girls, and even if Finn needed help where girls were concerned. Then again, it hadn't been long enough since Puck was the secret cause of Finn's girl troubles. Nah, Finn would figure it out by himself.

So what were all the problems here? Was there a way he could solve all of them? Could he stone two birds with a… wait. What? That didn't make sense.

He needed to focus.

Okay, so the best person for this kind of an assignment was probably Mercedes. Then again, she was probably in the same situation after he'd picked the other song. She would do tons better without help anyway, she had just been nice enough to nail the female part in that one because they needed her to and because she would take solos wherever she could get them.

Finn supposed his first problem was in actually figuring out what 'funk' was. He had already asked three or four people and hadn't been able to come up with anything solid. Maybe that was why he had been so quick to believe in the song he had chosen before; what was Schue always telling them? It wasn't just about fitting the assignment because lots of songs could do that for every assignment. It was about finding the _right _song. He had stressed that with funk—you had to find a song you could feel.

Maybe that meant he needed to figure out how he felt first. The question was –how he felt about what, exactly?

This was where he came back to being so mixed up that he didn't know what to do. He shook his head and finally reached for the shirt that was resting inside his locker.

The whole day had just sucked. He noticed Rachel wasn't in the hall after lunch, not at her locker like normal anyway, and she'd come to their last period of the day—glee—looking so sad he knew for sure something was up. Then they'd spent the rest of class talking about how Jesse had egged her and how she had gone home and showered three times but still couldn't get rid of the feeling that chickens were going to peck her to death in her sleep out of vengeance.

He might not have understood everything, but he definitely didn't understand how Jesse could do that to her. He understood how Vocal Adrenaline could do it, and thought she was probably right when she said it was Jesse's aim to psych her out before their competition in the name of winning. What he didn't understand was how Jesse could be with her and not love her, because Finn wasn't even with her and he still loved her anyway. He had found her kind of annoying at first, but it was just because she came on strong and had major opinions and usually pushed them off on everyone else. And now, he was more likely to just be glad she had taken an interest and pointed him in any sort of direction.

And all of a sudden, he knew what he needed to do. He needed Rachel's help with the assignment. She would be honest and he could trust her to help. Plus she probably needed a distraction from the chickens and their pecking. He smiled. He wondered if he could distract her. It would be kind of interesting to find out. He hoped he could.

His cell phone was in his jeans pocket, so he dressed quickly and left the locker room before he called her.

"Hello?" She answered. Her voice was off, somehow lacking its normal energy. He wanted to grind Jesse into the ground for making her sound that way. It just wasn't right.

"Hey, Rachel." He said, looking down but still casting his eyes around the empty main hallway. "Are you busy?"

"No," she sighed. "I was thinking about watching a Judy Garland biopic that's on, but my dads want me to wait and watch it with them later."

"Oh," he said. "Yeah, that sounds great." He switched the phone to his other ear as he reached for the bar on the swinging side door to walk out of the school. "Listen, I was wondering if you would help me with something."

There was no mistaking the curiosity and the way she seemed to perk up. "Go ahead."

"Well, Mr. Schue wants me to redo the funk assignment because Marky Mark isn't funk."

There was a long delay while she spoke. "Well, I used my free pass on the assignment."

He nodded. Schue gave them one free pass per quarter to use if they just couldn't get a handle on an assignment and Rachel had been the last one who still had a pass up until this afternoon. In fact, it was the first time she'd ever used her pass. When she had uttered the word, the other members of New Directions had looked around in disbelief. Well, except for Brittany who was trying to use her most recent piece of gum to get an older piece of gum off the bottom of her shoe. He had watched her try for at least ten minutes before she finally put the newer gum back into her mouth and he tried really hard not to think about it because he didn't want to barf in the middle of the classroom. That would not help the reputation he was trying to improve _at all._ The last thing he needed was a blog post from some senior about how the New Directions kids puke in their classroom.

"I know, but I really need your help."

Rachel breathed out a sigh and hesitated. "Okay, fine. Come on over."

"Thanks, Rachel. I really appreciate it," he agreed. He said a brief goodbye and walked toward her house quickly. For as quick as he got there, even after all the leg weights at football practice left his thighs feeling kind of weak and numb, he hesitated before he knocked on the front door.

What had he been thinking? This was stupid. She was going to see right through it and he was going to have to admit everything he'd been thinking as he watched her and Jesse and how it added up to something he wasn't sure he had the balls to say out loud. What if she told him no? What if she didn't feel the same way?

What if she laughed at him?

Well, if she laughed at him, it would be better than nothing probably, and definitely better than the way she had looked earlier. He couldn't think of anything better or worse at the same time than her laughing at him. And he had this really annoying need to be totally honest with her. It was like the words just came out of him whenever she locked those eyes on him. He would have to find some way to control himself while he was here. Would thinking of the mailman help with this? He could only try.

He huffed out his nerves in one breath, like he might before he called out a play, and reached up to knock on her door. It took her a minute to answer and she led him right up to her room without making eye contact at all.

He took his backpack off as he looked around the room. It was the first time he'd been here since she had freaked him out and he was surprised to find all of his uncertainty gone. He didn't feel uncomfortable here now, at least not how he thought he always would when he'd left that night.

She had changed out of her usual school clothes and looked very casual in a long-sleeved shirt and soft cotton pants. He liked it that she was relaxed around him, even enough to be in her pajamas just this once. She turned and sat on her bed to look at him expectantly.

"Well…so how can I help you?"

He nodded and sat in the chair at her desk, thrown off his game for a minute by the sheer pinkness of the room. He looked around distractedly before he heard her inhale and her voice drew his gaze as she spoke again.

"It's a little weird being here again, isn't it?" She asked, watching him hesitate and remembering how embarrassing and awful it had been the last time. Maybe she would just keep sitting on her bed. That seemed like a more comfortable option to total humiliation in front of a great guy. She was so bad at restraint; maybe sitting here would be the most effective way to have some.

He thought about it for a minute, really thought, and then answered. "No. You were the first person I thought of when I realized I needed help. I'm glad you let me in."

She nodded. "Well thanks, I think. Funk isn't really my thing, though." She gripped the comforter and looked away uncertainly. "I think it's pretty obvious I am not that familiar with actual feelings."

"You do all right," he said. He shrugged. "It's the guys around you who need help." He blew out another breath before he continued.

Mailman. Mailman, mailman, mailman.

He did _not_ want to get started on a conversation about feelings right now.

"So I guess my first question is if you know exactly what funk is." He looked down and let out a chuckle. "Obviously I do not."

She smiled broadly. "Well, funk is closely derived from the blues, but it is more focused on rhythm and less focused on chord progression."

He was immediately confused. "I'm not sure I get it."

She knit her fingers together and twisted them, seeming indecisive for a moment before she stood.

"Do you remember the part in Dirty Dancing where he puts Baby's hand over his heart and tells her dancing is all about the beat?"

He was immediately even more confused. "No. I haven't seen that play."

She closed her eyes, her long eyelashes resting on her cheek as she grinned her amusement. He wanted to kiss them and kiss the grin off her face. But then she corrected him. "It's a _movie_."

"I haven't seen that one either," he said. She stood quickly and pulled him up.

"Okay, let's start over," she said primly. She sighed. "I think the reason I had trouble with this assignment is that I'm a vocalist, not a dancer, and funk relies on simple melodies that don't suit my singing style," she began. Her voice dropped a little and she looked down. "I think the awkward dancing is why Quinn's song wasn't great."

He nodded, trying to understand everything so she didn't have to repeat herself. "So funk is more about dancing?"

She smiled and looked up at him, standing closer. "It's more about drums or a bass beat. The rhythm….well, you're a drummer. You know what I mean." Her eyes dragged all the way up to where he was looking at her, watching skeptically.

They looked at each other, just inches apart, for a minute that felt like a year. She cleared her throat and tried again.

"So..when…when you…when you practice drums, how do you do it?"

He shrugged and shuffled his feet a little. "Well, you know. I just turn on the radio."

"And what are you favorite songs to drum to?"

He thought about it, tucked his hands in his jeans pockets. "Mostly rock songs like Foo Fighters or Red Hot Chili Peppers, Kings of Leon. That kind of stuff, maybe sometimes stuff from the eighties."

Her eyes lit up and her smile was instant and bright, shining on her cheeks and making her look happier than she had looked in days. "I think I know what song you should sing."

"Foo Fighters aren't funk. I know that much."

"No, they aren't," she admitted. She was already sitting at her desk in the chair he'd been sitting in minutes ago and typing furiously on the computer. "But another band you said..." she trailed off, focused intently on the flat-screen monitor for a moment before she leaned up on the seat, just enough to reach forward and turn up the volume on the speakers.

He smiled as he heard the familiar intro. But why, oh why did she have to pick this song? It was a little too close to everything he was trying not to say. She needed some more time before he dumped any of that on her; for now he just wanted to be a friend and take her mind off it. He didn't need to sing something that felt like a confession.

_You give me that funny feeling in my tummy._

He couldn't help it, the playful beat of the song made his knees start to bounce. Before he knew it, he was tapping her on the shoulder playfully. When she turned around from where she'd been adjusting something on the computer, he took her hands and, just goofing around, didn't let them go but instead pulled her away from the desk and started dancing.

He smiled as she got more into it, throwing her arms in the air and bouncing around him in tune to the beat of the song. It was easy to forget that even a few hours ago, she had been heartbroken and spaced out. It was easy to forget the past two months of agony and back and forth.

It was easy to sort out how he felt. He loved her. He sang along to the song he'd drummed to a few times, the words easy enough to remember—and he tried really hard not to put his hands on her shoulders and then attack her with his lips. That wasn't what she needed right now. He just needed more time to think about it and make a plan before he could act.

Rachel wasn't the girl you mauled in a motel room. He was pretty sure she had a rape whistle and pepper spray for those instances. No, Rachel was the girl you dated, the girl you loved for the rest of your life. At least, she was that girl for him.

He stopped moving suddenly.

Mailman. MAILMAN. Ugh.

"What's…what's wrong?" She asked as she stopped bopping around, her smile slowly fading into pure confusion as she took in his expression.

He gave a quick smile. "Nothin'. I just told my mom I would be home for dinner so the clock says I need to go." He gave a second smile, more genuine this time. "Thank you so much for your help."

She reached a hand out to smooth her fingers down over his bare arm and he did the best he could to repress his physical reaction.

Mailman.

He couldn't totally hold back, though. He was grateful to her, he was around if she needed someone to talk to. Was there some small way he could convey that, something he could do that would be a friendly gesture…but not exactly?

That's what he wanted after all; he knew that now. Friends….but not exactly.

Without really thinking about it, he reached a hand out to her chin and used his thumb to gently tip her face up so he could bend down and place a single, sweet kiss on her cheek. As he pulled away, her eyes were big and round and he could've sworn her cheeks were just a little bit pinker than normal.

Then again, maybe it was just the lighting in her bubble gum bedroom.

His eyes swept over her face. "I mean it. You're a lifesaver."

"Any time," she said. Was it just him or was her voice a little bit higher pitched, too?

Mailman. Mailman. Mail—oh, man. Just forget it. It wasn't going to work. But at least the song would work.

It was a start.

The song they're talking about is Love Rollercoaster by The Red Hot Chili Peppers. Find it here: .com/watch?v=N1cbsLKXasQ . This version is a remake of one by the Ohio Players, so I promise it really is funk; in fact, it was on a list of 100 Greatest Funk Songs of All Time.


End file.
